The Mask that hides the Demon
by BlueLion20
Summary: Two years after the first season. The Sky People have been all wiped out. All but one. Clarke. Who is a captive of the Trikru. The healer of Anya's army. But Clarke is hiding her rage. Hiding the hate inside her that is starting to grow. One day it will be let out. Soon her body will be nothing but a temple of hate.


Disclaimer: I don't own either the show this story is based on or the song, "Temple of Hate." It's by Xandria

If anyone has any doubts, all of the Sky People, save for Clarke are dead. Them being alive isn't even an option in this fanfic. I know that's difficult, but they're dead, sorry. The song seems a bit more fitting now, doesn't it? Very, very, very dark Clarke in this.

Warnings for murder, violence, hateful thoughts and so on.

 **The Mask that hides the Demon**

The smile slipped on so easily that it probably should be worrisome if Clarke wasn't so used to faking her pleasant appearances. But it was there. A big smile to greet Anya's best scout, Yan who came back from his circling around the camp.

"Has Morok gotten food ready?" Clarke asked, questioning about the food that might be provided tonight.

Yan nodded. "Sha. Klark. Morok has cooked all the boars. They're as fat and cooked as both Isu and Polor put together." Clarke forced the laugh, even though what Yan said was indeed amusing. She could appreciate humor. Even when it was from someone she truly despised.

She gave a nod to Yan and he left her tent, leaving her to "tend" to the young, sixteen-year-old warrior, Lyarn's wound on his arm. She gave a warm smile to Lyarn. Not one bit of her appearance would give away what she was doing. She would not reveal that she was slowly infecting his wounds.

This was how it had been for a while now. Clarke had counted. There were at least three hundred warriors that Anya had at her beck and call. Three hundred warriors that were responsible for the murder of her people. The funniest thing that Clarke found? Was that Anya and her warriors actually believed that Clarke was truly _their_ warrior.

Even though she was killing them slowly. Putting infections in their wounds with rusty equipment and pretending not to know what was happening to the Trikru's wounds.

 _(Every day I am facing a new way of_

 _chasing the dreams I am losing in constant_

 _defense. The world keeps on turning, the beds_

 _are still burning in foolish unconsciousness_

 _and self pretense)_

She lost count of the number of times she did it during her time being held captive here. Captive. Yes, she was a captive. And that was something she reminded herself of every day when she woke up, not allowing herself to ever see herself as a Trirku. She was pretending to be one of them. But she never would be. She reminded herself every day, because she knew those cases where people were taken captive by other people and they came to see themselves as part of that group. There was even a name for the condition.

Stockholm Syndrome.

Clarke would not allow that for herself. She would go down fighting. Even if Anya and her people didn't know it. She wasn't one of them. She wasn't a Grounder. She never would be.

So she proceeded with doing this for the last two years, without anyone realizing it. Ever since the massacre of her people. There would be the occasional accident. An infection. Or someone left to die when a few wild animals like wolves, bears, the occasional pauna or boar. A pauna, Clarke learned, was a gorilla. A very angry gorilla. That ate meat, weirdly. But she would always make sure the people she left to die or infected were dead. There were even times when Clarke found herself being confident enough to sneak into the tents of those injured and would smother her prey in their sleep.

The intended victims would already be so injured or sick that they wouldn't know what hit them until it was too late. There was a time when Clarke felt remorse for the things she did. But when a warrior three years younger than Lyarn named Samo proudly informed her that he liked her well enough for a Sky Person, but he had killed three of her people and would get kill marks for it, her remorse disappeared.

 _(Take it away, take it away, free me!_

 _Take it from me, take it from me now!_

 _Falling astray, falling astray faster_

 _only to see how deep in the shadows_

 _it's hiding for me. Down there the demon_

 _is rising)_

These people were animals. They called themselves people. But Clarke wouldn't believe it for a second. She saw them for what they were. Monsters. Animals. Grotesque parodies of human beings. They weren't people. They might be the same species as her, but they were so far from being the same as her, it was laughable.

So when Clarke made the decision after saying that she'd be Anya's healer, and Anya laughably believing it, she knew what she would have to do. She would kill every last one of these people. Or kill as many of them as she could before she was eventually found out and killed for it. She knew that if she was caught, she would be killed horribly. Horribly didn't even cover how horrifying her death would be, and Clarke knew it. But she didn't care. Every last one of her people were gone. Because of Anya. Because of Anya's people, Anya's tribe. Even if what she did was evil, even if what she did would get her killed, she had to avenge her people, even if it was the last thing she did.

And she gave herself the daily reminder every morning. This daily reminder? She was not a Trikru. She was not one of Anya's people. And they didn't care about her. And she never would be a Trikru.

Or maybe they did, but that wasn't Clarke's concern.

 _(Coming to carry my soul down with him_

 _Down into the temple of hate)_

That boy, Samo, he was dead now. Very dead. Clarke made very sure of that. As the boy slept after taking medicine from Clarke, the medicine being mixed with a type of drug that Clarke slipped into the medicine, Clarke crept into the boy's tent and nicked him a few times in his wound with a rusty blade. The infection had taken his chest, since his injury had been right on his chest. There was no saving him.

Clarke and Samo were alone when Samo passed. Clarke made sure that the last thing Samo saw before he died in agony, was her grinning face.

Clarke glanced over at Lyarn who was looking at his arm with confidence. Lyarn would be next. Or maybe it wouldn't be him. There were three other people that Clarke intended to track and make sure she could kill slowly. She was counting down how many people were left in Anya's army. The regretful thing was that there were still many. But that was to be expected in an army. Clarke didn't mind. She wasn't going anywhere. Anya made sure of that. True, Anya and all of the village considered Clarke one of them now, but Clarke couldn't very well do anything that said she was going to be escaping, could she?

She needed to be subtle. Very subtle with everything she did.

But she made progress with Anya's numbers. Before now, there were three-hundred and five in Anya's army. There were now in the last two years, with as many people as Clarke finished off, about two-hundred and ten. It was easy when the Trikru were so stupid that they put their lives in danger all the time for the sake of showing that they were strong, plus the many battles that their tribe got into. These people as Clarke saw, were stupid. It made tricking them to their deaths that much easier.

And Clarke knew of nowhere where she was to be. So she did nothing except slowly kill off Anya's tribe.

 _(All the ways that are leading me into_

 _hell's open ceiling are carrying names_

 _so familiar to me)_

There was another threat. One that made Clarke nearly delighted when she learned of it. The Mountain Men. People with plastic suits on that stole people from their tribes and made them into "Reapers" or just stole them. For what? None of the Trikru knew. Clarke feigned horror over these stories. But inside? Clarke was laughing. This was good. More people she could get rid of. And a new way of getting rid of them. Two ways, really. There were Reapers. People that ate human flesh. All Clarke needed to do was lead the Grounders she was with to the Reapers, then run away.

So in the next week after learning of the Mountain Men, Clarke tricked some of the Grounders from Anya's tribe into coming with her, and she'd leave them at the edge of where the mountain was and would sit back and do nothing when the Mountain Men came and took the Trikru people. When she came back that day, she came back with slashes on herself (self-made slashes), claiming that she was running away from the Mountain Men.

That claim was believed and unfortunately, met with many insults of "coward" thrown her way. She was alright with being called a coward. That was if it meant that there would be more of Anya's tribe dead. And she went on with that plan for more than a year. Now watching more and more Trikru dying, Clarke, feeling her hatred skyrocket, but become rich with delight by the second if that was possible, she knew that the things she did were ethically wrong, but she also knew that these people were just wrong. In every way. They murdered her people. Massacred them like animals.

When they came back from killing her people at the drop ship, their bodies were covered in her peoples' blood as she had screamed at them in rage and despair, held back by chains.

Rage wasn't even close to describing what she felt when it came to Anya's people. She swore she would kill them all. After Samo's disgusting words, she swore silently that night that she would kill every last one of them, even if it was the last thing she did.

 _(It's so hard to stay who I am when your_

 _knives rip my heart out and hit me again_

 _and again)_

It was like a dream now, when Clarke thought about the person she had been at one time. Forgiving. Loving. And self-sacrificing. It was a joke. It was all for nothing. That person was a fool. The old Clarke was a weak fool. The new Clarke? She needed to be a heartless demon if she wanted to kill Anya's people as she swore she would. And she was coming close to her goal. Surprisingly close. When she left those five men to be killed by the pauna four months ago, she almost burst out laughing at their screams, watching them being wrecked from limb from limb. She was grinning all the way back to camp, till she reached the entrance and she forced a sad, pained look on her face and told everyone with a sorrowful voice what happened.

Despite all the things she had done to Anya's people, she knew there people to blame for the things she was doing, and it wasn't her. How could it be her fault, when Anya and Anya's people were the ones that stole her from her people and made her this way in the first place? How could she be at fault for avenging her people, doing her duty to her true people, when those same people had been murdered? Never been given a chance at a true life here on Earth and the murderers of her people were claiming that it was just? No, these people brought it on themselves.

That was one of the things Clarke hated these people the most for. For turning her into someone that she never would dream of becoming. Would have prayed once that she would never turn into, even if she was never religious.

But she was this person now. And it was Anya and her army's fault.

 _(Take it away, take it away, free me_

 _Take it from me, take it from me now!)_

These people had no one to blame for their suffering except themselves.

Clarke heard footsteps coming up behind her. She turned around, forcing a smile yet again when a couple of young women that came through. She knew who they were well. Zefa and Moira. People she convinced after a year that she was "friends" with. How convenient.

"Hi, guys," Clarke grinned, making sure it was perfect. Not too wide that it was suspicious, not too forced. Even though it was the fakest thing in this tent.

Zefa and Moira, who were used to "strange Sky Person sayings" by now, nodded back and said their hellos. Moira said, smiling back, "We found some berries miles away. After we eat, do you want to pick them with us?" Clarke tried not to roll her eyes. Well it wasn't like she had anything better to do. "Sure." She answered. A thought then struck her. A thought about what she found this morning. Something only she knew about. But no one else did.

"Where are the berries you want?" Clarke asked, yet another thought on how to kill these people starting to form.

Zefa answered, looking nonchalant, "To the west. Feet from the river. Are you coming or not?" Clarke chuckled. This time her amusement was real. Because of course she was coming with them. West, feet from the river was where she had found some very, very poisonous flowers this morning. And no one knew about them.

Except her.

So yes, she was going to go with them to get berries. But berries were not all that Clarke was going to get from near the river. She was going to bring back many of the very poisonous flowers too. From what she understood, having it explained to her by one of Anya's remaining healers from before. Ontow was his name and he, a year and a half ago had walked her around their camp and around the forest, pointing out flowers, berries and mushrooms and shrubs that were poisonous and told her to remember them.

She remembered them alright. She remembered them as a means of getting rid of these people. She remembered the bright orange flowers by the river, in the west. She knew what they were. They had an official name from the Grounders. "Invisible Killer of Warriors." It was called that because just one petal grounded up and put into a person's dinner or drink? Just one petal? Could kill a full-grown warrior. The warrior could be uninjured and not sick at all, and full-grown, but still would die. Horribly.

It was called "invisible," because the effects besides pain and death were totally unseen. There were no vomiting or sores or marks that the flower would leave. The warrior who consumed it would just be in horrible pain and then would die. And the Grounders knew of no cure.

Clarke once took one of these flowers secretly to study it. There was a cure. A specific shrub that Clarke found. But she absolutely was not going to share this information with Anya's people. That would be defeating the purpose. She wanted to kill them all. Not find ways of sparing them.

 _(Falling astray, falling astray faster_

 _only to see how deep in the shadows_

 _it's hiding for me. Down there the demon_

 _is rising)_

So yes, she would be coming with Zefa and Moira to get these berries. But secretly she would be taking those flowers as well. She would bring them back and she would grind up a petal and slip the grinded up petals into the drinks of each injured warrior she could find. She knew she needed to be careful. If all of them dropped dead at the exact same time, she'd be found out.

That was why she'd kill them over time. Her first victim would be taken tonight. A bedridden warrior named Olar. She would slip into his tent and pour a drink down his throat. A drink that would contain the ground up petal that would be the warrior's doom. When he died, it wouldn't look suspicious. He was already known to be sick.

If full-grown warriors that weren't injured or sick started dropping dead for no apparent reason, there would be suspicion. Clarke was going to be careful of that. The people she was going to be targeting were all injured or sick in some way. They were on the road of recovery, but Clarke was going to make sure that didn't continue.

"Yes, yes," Clarke nodded. "I'm coming with you. Tell me when and we'll leave after we eat to find those berries." Zefa and Moira both smiled and left. Clarke restrained her smirk, reminding herself that Lyarn was still in the tent with her. She turned back to the boy, keeping her all too fake smile on.

"Lyarn," She said in a forced, gentle voice, "How is your arm feeling?" The boy smiled. "It's doing well, Klark. I think I'll be able to start using it soon. Thank you, sis." Klark tried not to bark out a laugh at the boy. She forced her smile still. "Sis" was what some of the kids called her. They meant it as an endearment when they started to officially see her as one of them, but Clarke despised the nickname. She acted like she enjoyed it, but it was just one more slap across her face.

These people weren't her family. They were her captors. The murderers of her soul.

 _(Coming to carry my soul down with him_

 _Down into the temple of hate)_

"I'm so glad to hear that, Lyarn." She informed the boy, not one bit of her hate slipping through. "Now how about you go and get food while I clean up here?" Lyarn nodded and ran past her out the tent. Only then did Clarke's hateful smile appear. This was not the smile that she had given Lyarn or her "friends." This was a twisted smile. A cruel smile. A smile that would give Anya herself good reason to take a knife out in defense.

She would kill them all. And her some of her plans would fall through tonight. She had put rust into Lyarn's wounds. No one would know what caused it. These people were stupid. They didn't know about things like "rust" or infections. They didn't even know that burning was not a smart way of keeping someone from bleeding until Clarke had told them. Such morons.

She savored these hateful thoughts. Hateful thoughts she knew once she would have seen as prejudice and horrible. But she savored them. She savored them because they were a constant reminder of what she lost because of these people.

Her people. Her friends. Her family. Herself. Why shouldn't she embrace the horrible person she was now? She was only this way because of Anya and her people. And it was all the more meaningful because it told her how much of herself these people had murdered. And no one helped her. No one knew just how much she hated them.

Clarke stepped out of the tent, forcing a neutral look on her face, looking around at the many warriors and children running around, saying their friendly hellos to her, none of them having any idea that Clarke was the worst enemy they could have and that they were the ones that made her into their worst enemy.

Clarke just nodded and walked through camp.

She was going to do her usual routine. Say hello to Anya and give the woman the report. Then she would sit down at dinner, eat, then she would go out with Zefa and Moira and gather those berries. Then Clarke would take the flowers. These peoples' death sentence.

She would slip some powder into the wounded's mouth at different times. Olar would hopefully die tonight. Then three more wounded in a few days. Then six more in a couple of weeks. Clarke would keep these flowers secret.

These flowers were a miracle of death. It turned out, from what Clarke was informed of by the healer Ontow, these flowers had no scent. Nothing that could be traced back to them. And they lasted for an incredibly long time. It meant that no one could trace the deaths back to any poison. And it meant that the flowers would last her at least a year.

A year of poisoning these people. Clarke couldn't ask for any better form of death.

Clarke hid a disgusted grin. Her people would be ashamed of her if they could see her now.

 _(Oh please help me-oh let me be)_

Clarke approached Anya's tent, forcing a calm look. She had to do this. For Wells. For Raven. For Octavia. For Miller. For Jasper. For Monty. For Bellamy. For Finn. For Drew. For Myles. For Harper. For Monroe. For Fox. For all of them. For all of them, she had to kill these people. 300 and 5 for 100 deaths? It might not even out, but it could have.

It could if Clarke told herself that these people deserved it and what she was doing was for the good of everyone. Clarke wasn't sure it wasn't. Even if she was only killing these people for a selfish reason, for vengeance, wasn't killing hundreds of warmongers for the best? 305 less murderers and people that caused wars in the world? Wasn't that a good thing?

Yes, Clarke knew that part of what she was telling herself was foolish, a lie even. But it didn't mean that there wasn't some truth to it. What were Grounders good for? If all the Grounders did was survive and kill, what was the point of them except to cause pain?

Clarke once feared what she would have to do. She had even killed a couple of pregnant women with her choices. Walking away from a fire she started. Everyone in the tent, the seven-month pregnant woman, her "homon," her husband and her two older children burned inside. Clarke just walked away and told no one that she was there. When everyone was alerted to the smoke and flames, Clarke had made it back to her tent which was all the way across the camp and no one knew that she was even at that pregnant woman's tent.

Clarke pretended to be sad when she was told the news, but inside, she had been laughing. When she reached her bed that night, she cried herself to sleep. But in the morning, she knew what she'd have to do. She would have to do it again and again if she wanted to avenge her people. Even if it destroyed her. Destroyed her again and again to do.

 _(Take it away, take it away!_

 _Take it from me, take it from me_

 _Falling astray, falling astray)_

So another pregnant woman died. And so many others died. And no one put the pieces together.

No one knew who was responsible.

They all thought it was injuries and sickness overtaking their people. And the other things? Accidents? People dying from animals and the Pauna? People being taken by the Mountain Men? Things like that happened all the time even before Clarke was taken by the Tree people. So there was nothing suspicious when it came to those deaths.

Clarke stepped into Anya's hut, forcing a smile and she informed the Grounder that greeted her with the progress. Anya nodded.

Clarke said that she'd see Anya at dinner, hoping Anya wouldn't bring up what they talked about before. Clarke wanted nothing to do with this woman. It was bad enough that she had to be their damn healer and force a smile on her face to pretend that she didn't hate them if she wanted to stay alive, but Anya wanted to start a relationship?

That was the most disgusting insult Clarke could think of.

Anya looked to Clarke, keeping a calm look on her face. "Klark?" The woman began, "Have you considered what I talked to you about?" Clarke tried not to growl. It was such an insult. So disgusting. This woman had ordered the murder of her people.

And now Anya wanted them to be together? If that wasn't Anya's way of disrespecting Clarke's peoples' memory, then Clarke didn't know what was.

Clarke forced a smile, trying to hold back what she really wanted to say. _"Yes, I have considered what you talked about before. I laughed when you weren't around. And it makes me sick. You're sick and disgusting. All your people are. I want you dead. You filth."_

Those words would get her killed, should she speak them. But she didn't. Instead she just calmly said, infuriated at how smooth her own voice sounded with the hate inside her begging to be freed, "Sha, Onya. I have. And I don't think that's a good idea. I am your healer. I would not wish for you to be only concerned about me when battle comes when you need to protect so many more of our people. I won't have you only worrying about me when there are many people that need your protection."

It was a convincing argument, and Clarke knew it. And it was all the better to make it sound like she really wanted to protect these people. Like she really saw Anya's people as her people. Even though the pauna had more value to her than these people did.

It was such a good mask she had on. One she was familiar with. One she crafted to perfection for the sake of revenge. One of self-sacrifice. One of protectiveness over Anya's people. Even though she relished their deaths. Her hate grew with each day and she hid it so well.

 _(But I will keep it under the surface_

 _of my smiling face, no-one can see_

 _what's behind this mask for the world_

 _I am wearing all time so I can survive)_

Anya smiled one of her rare smiles. Clarke noticed that Anya showed them more and more since Clarke had proven herself to be "one of them." "I won't protect only you, Klark." Anya informed her. "Do you think me to be a foolish, young general who has never fought a war in her life? I know how to see what is most important. I will not only protect you when war befalls us. But you and I? We both deserve happiness."

Anya stepped forward and Clarke stopped herself from stepping back, revulsion in her throat as Anya took her hand in hers. Dark eyes looked into Clarke's blue ones. "Ai hod in nu, Klark." Clarke almost fell over when she heard that. Anya loved her? Anya loved her?

Clarke searched Anya's face for uncertainty or a lie. She knew that this was not something Anya would lie about. She didn't joke around over things, especially not this. Anya loved her.

Clarke felt the revulsion become stronger. But a thought went through her head. Wait a minute. This could work in her favor. If Anya let her guard down enough to really trust her, and trust Clarke with her heart, with her actual heart, then Clarke could twist Anya around her finger. Clarke knew it was a long shot, but she needed to try. To avenge her people.

She would lead Anya on forever if that meant it would lead to Anya's peoples' deaths. Clarke allowed her shock to come through on her face. That was a safe emotion to show. Because it would be real and understandable.

Anya said something next that made the revulsion enter Clarke's blood. "I know I can never make up for your peoples' deaths. I-"

"No, don't," Clarke said, turning away, ignoring her growing rage. She couldn't reveal her feelings. Not this soon. How dare Anya bring her people up? "Anya." Clarke said, keeping her voice leveled, "I'm honored. I'll think about it. I will think about it. Just give me some more time please." Anya nodded, letting Clarke's hand go. "Sha, Klark." The older woman said, maintaining her pride. It wouldn't do to have a leader of the Trikru army appear weak over something like love.

Clarke almost laughed again. Love? No. Anya didn't feel love. She felt what she thought was love. But these people weren't capable of that emotion. But if Anya thought that was what she felt, then why would Clarke stop Anya from thinking it? If it eventually brought these people down then how could Clarke really do anything to stop Anya from thinking that was what she truly felt?

Clarke met Anya's eyes and said in a calm voice, making sure to give the most perfect calm expression, "I will tell you after Zefa, Moira and I get back from berry picking. Does that work for you, Onya?" Anya nodded. "Sha." The woman agreed. "Mochof."

Clarke nodded and left the tent, trying not to laugh. Oh, Anya was making this too easy. The revulsion, the disgust and disdain were still so strong in her. It was practically in her veins. But she knew what her plan was. She would pretend that she was living her life with these people as always. And she would get them to believe that she was one of them. And Anya would come to believe that she returned the older woman's feelings.

But one day, when Anya thought she was safe, Clarke would put a piece of heavy fur over Anya's mouth and nose and kill her.

At dinner, Clarke pretended that everything was fine. She ate and laughed with Lyarn, Zefa and Moira. Clarke kept her smile at bay when she saw how Lyarn was scratching at his arm every now and then. Was the infection moving that quickly? Couldn't say she was surprised.

After dinner, she, Zefa and Moira left camp for the berries. They went out to the river and gathered as many berries as they could. And Clarke, with her berries, circled the tree where she found the flowers a day ago, found them at the bottom of the tree, between two big roots and leaned down, and grabbed all of them from the soil, the dangerous bright yellow flowers with their red tips unseen in the darkness, but Clarke knew what they were. She found them earlier. She knew where they were. She stuffed them into the leather pouch she sewed a few months ago to hide poisonous plants. The pouch was made of leather from a deer she and Zefa hunted together. That made the betrayal even better. She slipped the flowers into the pouch, tucking it away and closed the pouch. She put the pouch back under her shirt and weapons. No one would know about.

No one even knew that she made the pouch.

She searched for a few more minutes to not appear suspicious and then the three of them went back to camp. Clarke forced a smile as she spoke in Trigedasleng with Moira and Zefa. She didn't intend to survive this if she was ever found out. But if she killed everyone and was the only one left alive, then her now fluent Trigedasleng would be useful in the outside world.

 _(Because deep in the shadows it's hiding for me_

 _down there the demon is rising)_

They got to camp and shared the berries with everyone. Clarke kept her friendly smile in place, finding it easy with how stupid these people were. It was kind of infuriating how stupid they were. Clarke still couldn't understand how they excused the things they did. It disgusted her. Repulsed her. But their stupidity was her weapon. Their gullibility was her ally.

When Clarke found Anya walking along with her Second, Tris, Clarke made her decision. She needed to keep Anya under the impression that she loved Anya back. And that Anya could trust her fully with her heart. What better way than to enter a relationship with her? She walked over after handing out the berries to the children. Children who's parents she killed and made it look like accidents. Children she intended to kill the same way.

She reached Anya and smiled at her, saying hello and leaned down to Tris who leaned forward and hugged her. Clarke almost felt a bit of guilt. Almost. Tris liked her. Really liked her. But Clarke intended to kill her too. She would kill Tris before she killed Anya. So Anya knew the pain of losing Tris. But it was only fitting, wasn't it? Why not kill the Second Clarke was stolen from her people to heal in the first place? Why not make the person that stole Clarke see that person she committed kidnapping for die in front of her?

Clarke knew she'd have to be cautious about it. She would have to infect Tris somewhere down the line. She would have to make it look like she had nothing to do with it. And that would be easy enough.

Clarke let go of Tris and stood up, reaching out with a smile and taking Anya's hand in hers. Anya saw this and her dark eyes became wide. And Clarke almost felt sympathy for Anya. Almost. She almost felt for Anya when she saw that terrible emotion, hope show up in Anya's eyes.

Clarke nodded, smiling. "I accept." She said. She knew she just put the knife into Anya, and when the right time came, she would twist that knife before killing Anya.

Anya smiled and pulled Clarke forward, lips meeting Clarke's. Clarke hesitated, truly startled, but began to kiss back. Why not? She was maintaining appearances. She hoped Anya enjoyed this relationship. It would be the last happiness that Anya had left before Clarke would tear it from her.

Clarke kept the pouch with the flowers of death safe, secure as she kissed back. The kiss that was the kiss of death.

 _(Coming to carry my soul down with him_

 _Down into the blackness of the temple of hate)_

 **So sorry about that. Yeah…usually I like Anya and Clarke together. Re-watching the series left some negative feelings in me for some reason. And I've seen some good fics where Clarke is forced to be Anya's healer. And while they're good fics, Stockholm Syndrome is a thing. Let's not forget that.**


End file.
